


Collateral

by nellipot



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Drug Dealing, M/M, eventual bonnie and clyde moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-04-23 06:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14326716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellipot/pseuds/nellipot
Summary: “So, what do you think about me joining you on this?”“What?” There was no denying the laughter in his voice.a Hot Summer Nights (trailer) au with the correct casting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay listen. I am a gemini. if i didnt have three WIP at a time there would actually be something wrong.

“So, what do you think about me joining you on this?”

“What?” There was no denying the laughter in his voice.

“Yeah, like, I could help you out? I’m good for it, you saw!” The kid was pointing outside at nothing, at the imaginary police car that drove away 3 minutes ago, only a can of Pringles and a Dr. Pepper on one of its seats (not him, and the dime bags he was stashing in the cash register of a Come-and-Go, of all places).

“You did me a solid,” Armie offered his lower lip as a token of gratitude. “I don’t know why that makes you think you can sell weed fucking better than me.” His shrug coincided with the cupping of his hand to his mouth, the lighting of the cigarette between his lips. He looked away, let the smoke come out of his nose and toward the dull white tile before raising his eyebrows and blowing the rest in the kid’s face. He watched him scrunch his nose but hold his gaze.

“Not better,” The thin bones bisecting the insides of his wrists jutted out as he leaned onto the counter. “Easier.” The collar of his t-shirt looked curled and stretched, like he kept it in his mouth for most of his shift. Armie tried to think if it had been there when he rushed in, threw the pot at him and demanded he hide it. There'd been only one flitting look in his eyes before he had obeyed, unlocking the money drawer and pushing it in with the quarters. 

“Oh yeah?” He scoffed. He knew where this was going, but there was no way he was going to let himself sound intrigued. He took a drag between his response because he could. “And why should I listen to you?”

Armie watched the boy shrug. It was the lack of complete confidence that got to him, his dark hair a mess when it could be coifed, his shoulders hunched when they could be proud. There was courage in that sort of doubt.

“I could call him back over here.” 

Not just his voice now. The laughter was in his legs and stomach too.

“You trying to blackmail me? What’s your name, dude?”

“Timmy.”

“Of course it fucking is.” Another drag. This time with a shake of his head. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It was demanding and timid, curious and halting. Armie looked him up and down – chest to waist, only because the counter was obscuring his dramatics. 

“You’re a cartoon character. So it fits.” He smirked, the kid’s doe eyes getting smaller with his frown.

“You’re a Barbie doll. Ken, is it?” Oh, _yeah_ , he liked this kid. He shook his head and smiled. 

“Armie.”

“Ah. G-I Joe.” His face was so smug. Armie couldn’t help but laugh. That was a good one.

“ _Fuck_ you, are you gonna show me where the cameras are or not?”

“How did you –”

“I’m not an idiot, this would be a good spot.” Armie looked around and nodded. He could already see two cameras in the front corners by the entrance, expected one to be in the stockroom and one at the back door. “I’d need your shift times, your bosses shift times, some type of collateral.”

“Collateral?” 

“Something important, so I know I can trust you. What’s your least favorite finger?” He looked down curiously at the bony hands splayed across the counter.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Timmy pulled back. 

“Of course I’m fucking kidding you, dude, this is weed not the fucking mafia.” Timmy smiled at that. He rubbed his cheek into his shoulder like they weren’t just discussing how he was adequately going to become a fucking drug dealer.

“You can’t do that.” He waved the hand holding the cig in one big circle, smoke framing Timmy’s face. 

“Do what?” His head cocked to the side. Armie rolled his eyes.

“ _That._ The cute shit. At least pretend you aren’t twelve years old.”

“You think I’m cute?”

“I think you’re ridiculous.”

“The back door’s camera has been busted since I started here. There are two in the back, but a little rearrangement could take care of them. I want thirty percent.” 

“Now I _know_ you’re ridiculous.” Timmy shrugged. This kid was trying to rob him blind.

“You said it yourself, it’s a good spot.”

“You can have _five_.”

“Twenty.”

“Seven.”

“ _Ten_.”

Armie’d leaned closer with every offer. Their forearms were now pressed on the counter, on top of the newspaper ad that got taped down every week. _2 for 1 hot dogs when you buy a medium drink._ Timmy licked the corner of his mouth, bit his lip. He knew he’d won.

“You can have ten.” Smug smile. Ken doll smile. He held out his hand.

“I would have done it for five.” Armie laughed, reached out and shook it. “I would have done it for thirty.” It wasn’t true, but the way the thought played out on the kids face was enough to make it worth it. He let go, reached over to the display on the right and threw down a pack of gum, digging in his jeans for his wallet.

“I’ve been here too long. Write your number on the receipt.” Timmy took it, stood up straight. 

“Didn’t think of you as a _Bubbalicious_ guy.” He smirked, ringing it up and taking the money. Armie shrugged. “They make a mean watermelon mint.” He tapped his fingers idly until the receipt was slid towards him. He let Timmy make eye contact with him on the way out. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” He shouted. Armie gave him a blank stare. “No one _says_ that.” He squinted up to the ceiling like he was confiding in it, heard the bell rattle against the door on his way out. 

_You have my weed._ He texted when he realized it. The kid was already a distraction. He wrote out his address before Timmy replied. 

_Bring it here._

When he got a response hours later, Armie rolled his eyes at no one. He wanted to negotiate how much drug money he was going to get but drew the line at texting on the clock?

 _Okay!_

This was such a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think! or don't! but preferably you do!
> 
> also [tumblr](http://nellipot.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy's from Michigan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what? i actually updated this?

Timmy didn’t have a golden rule, until a guy with a face for a J Crew catalogue pushed open the door, blew up the dust on the dog food cans and looked him in the eyes. No one had looked anywhere _near_ him since he got there. Not his grandma, who kept her bedroom door closed to keep the air conditioning in. Not Greg, who was too busy watching Youtube videos on the overstock of beer cases they kept in the back to be an actual boss. Not the groups of people his age he saw hanging around the game booths at the fair, but that was mostly because it made him nervous to look near _them_.

He had a _sleeveless shirt on_. Was that even fair?

“Hide this,” said his eyes, and his mouth probably, because that’s where noise comes from. 

_That’s – that is weed_. He looked down at the teeny zip-loc bags, would have thought they were cute if they weren’t filled with something illegal; if J Crew hadn’t just run off to stand in the corner and read a Better Homes and Gardens magazine with his bare fucking arms while Timmy had to deal with a police officer asking him to put twenty dollars on pump number three. 

It was…a rush. He didn’t feel like himself, or at least the person he was back home, who never would have been able to smile so sweetly, take every part of his wiry personality and put it in a box so he could become who he needed to be in that moment. There was no nervous pulling at the skin of his neck, or palms dragging down his jeans to grab at the fabric on his thighs. He lost himself in the game, had even wished the officer needed change, just to see how many extra points he could earn.

“Not fucking bad.” Timmy looked up from where he was staring out the glass windows, watching the part of the officer he could see around the store’s logo decal. He bit his lip in a small smile. 

“No help from you,” He challenged with a nod. Still bold, apparently.

J Crew got a wry smile at that, pushed a hand through his hair and blew out a whistle. Could armpits be sexy?

“Ouch. You know I could have left one with you for your trouble, but I don’t think I will now.” 

“No thanks. I wouldn’t know what to do with it.” He didn’t know why he was admitting that to a total (-ly hot) stranger, why he felt the need to tell the entire truth when he hadn’t told anyone anything in weeks. _Just take the weed and say thank you, you idiot._ The guy raised his eyebrows, started fishing something out of his jeans pocket. A box of Camel lights. He registered the police car driving off in his peripherals. 

“Oh yea?” The guy wasn’t listening. Timmy started to panic. He needed this more than he thought. 

“But selling though! That must be…” Fucking fuck. Now was the _perfect_ time for him to forget how to talk out of his ass. As the dude took a cigarette out with two fingers (Indoors? In-fucking-doors?) he thought about how he didn’t want this to end. He didn’t know if it was the guy or the rush he was chasing, probably both. He was going to shoot his shot though, because literally, in a town like this, he had nothing to lose.

“So - ” 

-

It was only late afternoon when he got off of work, giddy with the idea of plans. _Oh, sorry Greg, I have plans_. That’s what he would have said if Greg had asked him to stay another shift. In reality, the man didn’t even look up as Timmy hung his red vest on the six pack by his elbow, slotting his punch card between the brown bottles and heading out the back door. 

He bit his lip when he glanced at the left corner of the door frame, where the camera hung with a crick in its neck, its red eye no longer blinking. Greg was good for nothing at best, but he _was_ the one who insisted on the least-grand tour Timmy had ever been apart of, nodding up at the thing as his excuse to smoke so close to the building. As he had rattled off the store’s surveillance like he was in an actual spy movie to the guy – _Armie_ – he had already been processing it as his proudest fucking moment. _Was I made to fucking do this? Did he really just call me cute?_

He stopped on the side walk every couple of blocks because he couldn’t really balance Google Maps on his handle bars, memorizing the last couple of streets so he didn’t look like a complete idiot while riding up a drug dealer’s driveway. It also took him a good two minutes to decide whether using his kickstand would look childish – maybe he’d just lie it in the grass. 

Armie answered the door with one elbow up on it’s frame, looking down at him with an expectant smile.

“Find your way alright?” He raised his eyebrows, not looking like he was asking to hear an answer.

“Fine.” Timmy gulped. Armie’s hair was wet and he smelled like man soap. This was such a good decision. 

He ducked under the guy’s arm and into his house, stuffing his hands in his pockets to pull out the little baggies that were stinking up his pants. The smell was smokey-strong and borderline rancid, he didn’t know if he liked it. 

“Sure, come on in,” Timmy heard Armie mumble as he closed the door.

“What, I’m supposed to pull weed out right on the street?” he huffed, offering up the handful and tossing it onto the coffee table when Armie nodded toward it. 

“Why do you even want to do this?” Armie laughed, crossing his arms. “You know you’re gonna have to pull weed out like, constantly? Like, that’s the job.”

“I know,” He said, trying not to pout. Armie watched him, and Timmy pulled at the hem of his shirt as he met his stare. It was silent for a second until Armie rolled his eyes.

“What ever. Sit down.” He said as he passed him to sink into the couch. 

“Why?” 

“So I can pop your weed cherry.” He was messing around with things that were strewn across the table in front of him, emptying a bag into a tin and twisting it in his hands. He looked up at Timmy after he started pouring the contents back out into a glass piece, letting out a whistle, and Timmy jerked his head from where he was staring at Armie's hands, standing in the same spot he’d been in since he got there. 

“Uh, do I have to?” 

Armie gave him a funny look. “Do I _have_ to?” he repeated. “You _say_ , ‘Thank you, Armie’ or ‘wow Armie, you’re the fucking bomb’. You’ve never wanted to smoke before?”

“I never thought about it.” 

“Alcohol? Anything?” Timmy shrugged.

“What’s the rush?” 

Armie stared at him, dumbfounded.

“ _What’s the_ \- how are you simultaneously a toddler and a middle aged man?” 

“You’re sitting on a couch I’ve seen in the magazines my grandma keeps in the bathroom.” Timmy scoffed. It was so easy to fire back at him for some reason. He didn’t feel the normal social pressures he usually did. Plus, that couch _was_ god-awful.

“I fucking resent that,” Armie smiled. Timmy stifled a laugh of his own.

“Look man, I’ll try it one of these days, can’t we just talk about what the fuck I’m doing?” Armie leaned back, shooing him with his hand.

“People will just pick up from you. They'll buy something small and give you way too much money for it, and you can pass them the stuff with their receipt,” He was grinning wide, hands behind his head. Timmy looked away because it looked too much like an invitation. “Easy-peasy.”

Timmy nodded, letting that plan sink in as he smoothed down the back of his hair. It sounded pretty foolproof, which was oddly disappointing. “And do I get to be in on the other stuff too?”

“What does that mean?”

“Like your other distribution, and the supplier –” Armie laughed before he even finished, standing up and coming towards him. 

“You want to meet U?” Timmy didn’t realize he was backing himself up until he hit the kitchen counter abruptly.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He looked up at Armie, standing as much of his ground as he had left. 

“That’s not a _thing_ you can just do, meet the supplier. They don’t wanna sit around and chat, and when they do, you move three states away and change your name.” And _that_ , that is just what he wanted to hear.

“My name sounds like a cartoon character’s anyway,” He shrugged, trying not to smile. Armie was searching Timmy’s face, his eyes landing on where Timmy was pushing his tongue against the side of his cheek. They were so close their chests were almost touching. 

“You an adrenaline junkie or something?” Armie asked, his voice low. “I’ve got shit for that - X, blow. Put something under your tongue and you’ll be flying in seconds.” 

“Under my tongue?” He mimicked. _Who the fuck am I today?_ He waded in Armie’s pooling eyes. 

“Where the hell did you come from?” Armie finally laughed, backing off after what seemed like minutes of silence, which was, again, disappointing. 

“Michigan,” He replied, his mouth dry.

“Okay, smartass.” Armie said, feigning exasperation, his back turned and headed toward the kitchen. He took a beer out of the fridge and didn’t offer one to him, which was the stupidest thing to ever make his chest feel full. 

“I’m going to a block party this weekend, to uh, network.” He smiled around the bottle. “You can come.” 

“Yeah. Text me.” It was time to leave. 

From now on, he wasn’t going anywhere near this dude without masturbating first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these versions of timmy and armie r SO FUN FOR ME IDK WHY I HAVEN'T BEEN UPDATING THIS MORE OKAY THANK YOU BYE
> 
>  [tumblr!!](http://nellipot.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> block partay!

He’d texted the kid to meet him on the cul-de-sac in the afternoon. The street was already packed with people who had probably been drinking since 11. Summer block parties were always the same. 

The blurry heat slinking across the black top was sporadically blockaded by groupings of lawn chairs and coolers. There were people spilling out of the few houses around the circle, dripping laughter and beer all over the driveways. Armie saw him amongst them immediately, fumbling his way around clutching a plastic cup. He didn’t even have to take off his sunglasses to know that the kid’s striped shirt was bright-ass yellow and blue, _perfect_ for being inconspicuous. 

This was supposed to be an _easy_ day. All his regulars were here, and it was around this time that the booze would get too warm or the speakers would get brought out and sat at either side of the street, and people wanted something else to heighten their buzz. That’s why he said Timmy could come, because as much as the kid obviously wanted to fulfill some life-threatening fantasy, which was a fucking contradiction in itself judging from the 15 minutes total he’d spent with him, Armie wasn’t going to give it to him. 

“Hey junkie!” Armie called out from the edge of the sidewalk. Timmy actually looked up, which fucking delighted him, and his tongue played with the tip of his canine as he watched Timmy make his way toward him, bump into some girl, get his cup thrown out of his hand and into the grass-littered inflatable pool. Even this was agonizing to watch. Armie met him halfway, putting a hand on his lower back, and walked them to a picnic table on the other side of the street. 

“You are too fucking much, you know that?” He said through gritted teeth, not looking down at him but out and around the crowd. He saw a few familiar faces and nodded, which was a confirmation more than a greeting. 

“That was _not_ my fault.” He watched Timmy swing his legs over the wooden bench with his arms crossed before walking over to sit on the other side. 

“This shirt is your fault.” Armie said, waving his finger around Timmy’s chest. It made him look down in question. 

Armie peered up to see Reggie walking towards them. He made little show of reaching into his pocket, and when the guy got to their table he shook his hand, sliding the bag into his palm as Reggie simultaneously slid the money into his. Armie clapped him on the back and made him come down to his level. 

“10 per, and I’ve got Mids for 7 a G.” 

Reggie nodded, gliding their handshake into a firm grip of their fingers before letting go. “You always got me dude, I’ll send some around.” The interaction took less than a minute and the guy was on his way, leaving Armie to tap his fingers on the table and continue scanning the street.

He could have counted on one hand how many seconds passed before the kid spoke up.

“That’s it?” Armie raised one eyebrow and lifted his fingers from the table as a shrug. 

“That’s it.” 

“What’s a Mid?” 

Armie looked past him as he spoke. “Relatively good weed, nothing like the named strains, but they smell good enough.”

“Why aren’t we selling the best weed?” Armie smiled, looked at him even though the change was probably not visible from behind his shades.

“They don’t want the best weed. I read the room; there’re enough people around that the smoke won’t look like it’s coming from you, but there’re also enough people around that you don’t wanna be spending 25 bucks just to get half a hit before it’s passed off to someone who probably has mouth herpes.” 

Armie watched Timmy look down at the table and process this. In that time, the blonde chick who always touched his arm before asking for yet another dime bag had come over, licking her lips and whispering in his ear. He didn’t flinch, keeping his face a cool expression, but he did slip the bag in her front shorts pocket for her, as a gesture. He saw how Timmy’s eyes flicked up from his hand to her breasts.

“Dime bags get fucking old after a while,” He offered the information without Timmy having to ask this time. “You wanna sell in bulk - quarters and halves, and that chick always comes asking for the same thing, giving me small money. It’s whatever though, typical for a block party at least.” Timmy nodded. 

“You only sell small bags here because you’re reading the room?” 

Armie smiled and kicked his leg under the table. “You’re getting it, junkie.” It made Timmy scrub a hand over his face and badly suppress a smile. 

It wasn’t long until there was a steady flow of people coming by, all of whom he had sold to before at least once. He told a few of his long-timers about how they would be able to pick up at the Come-and-Go, which he could have just texted them, but he wanted Timmy to see their faces.

“Don’t sell to people you don’t know. Don’t trust anyone who talks to you, even if you’ve interacted with them for a while. No one knows where I live, no one gets into my car, no one gets fronted.”

These were the basics, mostly, and it wasn’t gonna be the last time he said them. The way Timmy looked was… helpful, in a lot of ways. Trustworthy. But he didn’t want the trust to go both directions.

Timmy looked down at where he was playing with his fingers. “I know where you live. Why, um, why do I know where you live?”

“I don’t know,” Armie said with a scowl. “Don’t ask me dumb questions.”

“That’s a fucking valid question, you told me where you live 2 hours after meeting me.” Timmy snapped as he leaned in, pointing on the table for emphasis and keeping his voice low. 

Armie leaned closer to respond in the same biting tone, but was stopped when he heard someone call out his name.

“Armie, my man for all things mind-fucking. Heard you were selling sweets?” It was Hank.

He’d probably known Hank longer than any other customer he had. He’d only been doing this a little over four years, after Nick went to college and forced him to take up the business. Armie hadn’t inherited many of his clients; most of them took way longer to come around, but it took Hank all of two seconds to be fine with a new dealer. Probably because of how much he needed the high. 

“10 per as always, Hank.” He said, pulling out the pills. Hank slapped a bill into his hand before looking over to Timmy who was still leaned towards him, now resting his chin on his elbows huffily.

“I haven’t seen you with any arm candy for a while, Arms, welcome back.”

“You’ve _never_ seen me with any arm candy, Hank.” Armie scrunched his eyebrows at him, confused and annoyed.

“Right, right. My mistake. Who is he?”

“Nobody.” Armie knew to restrain himself from a sarcastic retort, he couldn’t have people thinking he could be with anyone. It’d put a target on anybody’s back. Hank put his hands up in the air.

“Fine, whatever. I’ll tell people the good stuff is with stripes over here though, right?” Armie watched Hank start to reach over to pat Timmy’s shoulder, and it took everything in him not to slap his hand away.

“I haven’t even given you the pills yet,” He interrupted coolly, causing Hank to stop and turn. 

“Fuck, I’m out of it already,” He laughed, reaching over instead to grab the bag from where Armie held it between two fingers. “I’ll see ya.” Armie nodded in return. 

The sun was at that point in the sky where everything started turning golden, the cement, the house sidings, the leaves on the trees. Armie took his sunglasses off, too dark for early evening. 

“I’m gonna dance.” Timmy stood up, expressionless, only pausing slightly to hear his response. Armie looked over at the congealing bodies near the center of the road and shrugged, still irked from the deal with Hank. Timmy lifted his legs, spun around on the bench and walked towards them, sliding his feet gracefully and grabbing onto some girl by the hips like he’d known her forever. She turned into him and smiled, putting her arms around his neck and then they were dancing, close and rhythmic. 

Armie watched them for a moment with a blank face before he turned away to make a few more deals, only glancing back 15 minutes later when he finally ran out of product. They were still there, maybe closer, maybe moving more slowly against each other. He pushed himself off the table and walked to the edge of the dancing crowd. Timmy started watching him walk over when he got to be only a few feet away, not stopping his movements.

“I’ll drive you home.” Armie said flatly, hands in his pockets. 

“I have a shift at the store.” Timmy’s mouth was on the girl’s neck.

“I’ll drive you there.” 

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t be in your car.” 

“Nobody else should be in my car.”

“I _am_ nobody.”

“You _are_ a pain in my ass.”

Timmy finally stopped to look up at him and Armie lifted his eyebrows, jerked his head impatiently. 

“Thanks for the dance,” He said, placing one more kiss on the girl’s cheek. She nodded and let go of him, and he started walking away from the crowd. Armie followed him and took him by the shoulders, spinning him 180 degrees. 

“My cars this way, Michael Jackson.” Timmy only stumbled slightly before continuing his strides.

“Oh, so I’m not junkie anymore?” He called behind him. 

“I don’t know, are you?” 

It made Timmy stop and turn around. He stared at Armie for a second before nodding. 

“How much did I make today?” Armie laughed.

“I don’t know, I’d have to check.”

“I work the graveyard shift tonight til 2, Gregg doesn’t come in til 5.” Armie nodded. 

“I’ll stick around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not a drug dealer
> 
>  [tumblr](https://nellipot.tumblr.com)


End file.
